Here and Now Again
by Shihaisha
Summary: A wizard once cautioned: there are many magic rings in this world, and none of them should be used lightly! Wise advice for some hero mired in the conflict of the fantastical; words to be penned in a book for our amusement... Full summary inside. References both book/movies.
1. Atop the Highest Bough

A wizard once cautioned: there are many magic rings in this world, and none of them should be used lightly! Wise advice for some hero mired in the conflict of the fantastical; words to be penned in a book for our amusement. Reason would point us toward the practical, and that such is mere childish imagining, but our hearts tell us different. They whisper of adventure, boast of courage, wrench in heartache, and hold to hope. There is something within that wants to believe in more than just tales spun for our own diversion. Perhaps it wasn't always so. Perhaps we have simply forgotten. Perhaps the world has only changed, and some things that were lost are about to be found.

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><p><strong>Chapter I<strong>

Atop the Highest Bough

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><p>It was raining. Droplets thudded heavily against the rooftop and I observed the deluge from the small loft window. Dismal and dreary; tree branches sagged in overabundance, their leaves dripping in a constant stream. The over-saturated ground pooled water in the grass, over the sidewalk, and into the street. A drain that had long since reached its capacity flooded the area adding to the already hazardous weather conditions. And then there was the mist. It hung about like a blanket, hiding things from view until you were just upon them.<p>

Gran would have loved it. The two of us would be snuggled on the window seat in the living room, wrapped in blankets and hands cradling steaming mugs. She would stare out the windowpane, her thin wire-framed glasses slightly askew on the bridge of her nose, and wiry strands of hair framing her face. Then she would smile; her face crinkling warmly before she spoke. The same lasting excitement that was birthed in a 7-year-old girl and carried into young adulthood would bubble within me. I would listen with the same rapt attention to the stories that Great Gran had told her and she in turn had told me. My mother had no intention of carrying on the longstanding family tradition of, in her words, reiterated hogwash.

She was a driven, serious sort—my mother—who lived only for herself, and so it was no small wonder that I had been born at all, the unhappy accident that I was. A nasty business, really, fortunately—in this case—it became a most profitable bargain; one worth the great inconvenience that was pregnancy. Simply put: Gran got the daughter she never had, and my mother got no daughter at all.

This point was not without struggle. It instilled in me a feeling of lack, of being cast aside, of drifting. When I was just a girl, Gran had told me that there was no magic in my mother; it had all passed to me. She had too much of her father and not enough of Gran. The thought had made me feel special, but as time passed reality robbed me of the comfort. Magic existed only in tales, and now that Gran was gone, so were they. My throat constricted painfully and I tried to swallow away the lump forming there. I had not cried, not with _her_ in the house, and it was beginning to catch up with me. It was why I was here, in the loft. It was the only place left that was remotely peaceful and free of her calculating presence. It was only a few measly hours after the burial and she had begun a thorough inspection, tallying everything into a flawless margin of profit and loss. Tomorrow men would be here to take the junk away and the estate sold. Everything would be gone. It would all be reduced to a husk of what it once had been, and I was being left with nothing but memories.

A chill ran down my spine as the door creaked open and someone stomped up the stairs. Sheer determination kept me staring out the window instead of acknowledging the loft's newest addition. The silence was palpable, and I swallowed.

"How much garbage do I have to go through?"

I listened uncomfortably as boxes were ripped open and things were rifled through without care.

"Unbelievable." There was a clank as something was tossed, now broken, back into its place. "What is all this?" my mother impatiently demanded.

I shrugged, still not bothering to fully acknowledge her, and my discomfort growing. I could feel her stare like daggers in my back.

"Just why are you here, then?" was her cutting reply.

This did get me to turn around, hot, angry tears gathering in my eyes.

"She was sick; someone had to be." My voice was husky.

She scoffed at this with a roll of her eyes before adding, "Well, I suppose you do have some uses."

I glared at her, the only show of my defiance, and pursed my lips. Gran wouldn't want me to fight, not here, and I didn't want to. I wanted to remember things how they used to be and not have them become embittered as well. Besides, I wouldn't ever have to see this woman again after this.

"What do you want?" I questioned when I had reasonable control. It was obvious from her posture, crossed arms and pointed stare, that this wasn't some random visit.

"Isn't that a question you should ask yourself? How many years have you been at college?" she taunted.

"Are you paying for it?" I angrily bit back.

She smiled at that. It was obvious that she took pride in my response, that it was some sort of proof that I was her daughter despite Gran's influence. Not that she was interested; it was more about crushing the family legacy and winning their longstanding argument which wasn't even settled in death. It made me feel ill.

"Waste all the time you like," she continued to prod, but I stubbornly refused to give her any more satisfaction. That dampened some of her haughty spirits and thankfully, she finally got to the point. "There was a ring—"

"I don't know," I interrupted.

"You don't know," she repeated disbelievingly.

"No, I don't. I asked Gran about it, but she said it's lost."

"Lost?"

"Yes, lost. Probably deliberately, but _lost_ all the same. Meaning: I _don't_ know where it is."

"How's that even possible? Do you really expect me to believe that she didn't give it to you…her little _prodigy_?"

There was no mistaking the bitterness dripping from her tone. The sudden intensity and venom was unexpected, and I didn't know what to say. It brought all sorts of emotions to the surface. My mother despised my relationship with Gran. It absolutely killed her that she was denied the one thing she had wanted for years. Such blatant rejection (though suspected) was almost impossible to take, thrust in my face as it were, but I also couldn't ignore the thread of truth in her words, however cruel they may be. That ring had been passed down in the family for generations. The fact that Gran had not given it to me had been hurtful. I had never done anything to betray her trust

It must have been apparent on my face that day, because she had gone to great lengths to explain. What merit is there when that which we desire is simply handed to us? Worth is found in the earning, in the struggles that are heaved upon us. They unveil the unexpected, bringing to light what is truly precious. The words rang in my mind and I could almost hear her speaking them. _Gran… _It twisted unbearably within me and there was no stopping the tears now.

"Believe what you want," I answered as I stood and moved toward the stairs. I couldn't take it anymore, this room, and this house. I had to get out.

"I will find it," she called after me—that woman—my mother. "And if I find that you had it…"

I slammed the door and shut out the rest of her words. The hall passed in a blur as I decided to take the back staircase: down into the kitchen, through the mud room, then I was free. There was no vantage point from the loft to spy my retreat. I was met by mist and rain, but I didn't care. The moment my feet landed upon soggy earth I quickened my steps until I was running. Across the expanse of green, back into the trees, and farther still. Through the fence that had been in disrepair for years, further into the thick foliage. The trees were closer together here, their trunks broad and untouched; one small piece of old still left in the world.

The way was well known: a path to many a make-believe adventure, a retreat for many a sorrow. I slid and fell against my refuge: a particular tree with such curvatures that it had immediately been likened to a humanlike form. It was silent as I finally broke and my anguish spilled from me. Not that it wasn't always so (trees usually are), but I wished for just a moment that this time was different. The notion was entirely ridiculous, wits end was probably a much more applicable description, but could nothing prove true? Was there really nothing left of she who was dearer to me than any other? Was it not human nature to wish for the impossible? The grief was suffocating, excruciating. How could I bare it?

I sat there for an indeterminate period of time, mud-speckled, soaked, tears mingling with rain until I was spent. The overcast sky began to darken in hue, and I guessed it to be close to evening. By all reason I should have been heading back, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The promise of dry clothes not enough to entice me, especially in light of the explanation that would be demanded due to my state. Instead, I gazed up at the old wood.

"What am I to do now?" I asked. "There's nowhere for me to be."

Hadn't I cried myself out? My spent utterance conjured more to the surface. My vision blurred as I sought for some answer. That is when the unlikeliest of occurrences happened. My tree, the one I'd lovingly nicknamed Fatroot in my youth, had moved. At least, I thought it did. Perhaps it was a trick of the eyes, the dimming of light. But I swore that the topmost branches reached out. It had been some time since I'd last sat beneath these limbs, but I was almost certain that it had been twisted in the opposite direction. I could do nothing but stare. It was not possible, probable, and a hundred other words that meant exactly the same thing. Finally standing, I reasoned that it was exhaustion and the wind, choosing to ignore the current lack of breeze. I'd just decided to go back when there was an absurdly loud creak. I couldn't help but look back up and that's when I saw it. How I caught the glint of silver was miraculous in its own right, as was the fact that the much debated "ring" was up there, caught on a tiny twig.

That crafty old woman! How had she managed it? I couldn't imagine Gran climbing up there, let alone trekking all the way out here to begin with. It made no sense. There were easier ways to _lose_ a ring. It was a mystery not to be answered. I walked around Fatroot looking for some purchase, but they were all just out of reach. So I scanned the nearest trees, and while they came close, it was not close enough. The one thing left of my beloved Gran and I could not get it. Somehow I knew that if I just left it, my mother would surely sniff it out. She'd destroy yet another thing to get what she wanted with no thought of the ramifications. That could not happen. But what was I to do? Short of going back for a ladder, and that would definitely tip my hand, there wasn't anything. The futility of it all only served to frustrate me further. My eyes glinted accusingly in the failing light.

"It is the only thing left of her, and you taunt me with it." My voice sounded hollow, and I struggled against a new onslaught of tears. Anyone might find it curious, my conversation with a tree, but there was no one else, and truly _it_ was to blame. I would be none the wiser had it not moved. That is, if it had indeed done so. What a train of irrational ideas! What would I believe next? Unwilling to entertain anymore impracticalities, or to stumble my way back through the dark, I turned sharply around and ran deftly into a solid branch.

To say it smarted would be a gross understatement. My hand immediately settled upon the spot of pain and I took a few steadying breaths, waiting for the throbbing to subside in my head. When I was able, I glared at the offending sprig and pointed at it in an incredulous manner. _That_ had not been there a moment ago. Either I was dreaming, or things were not as they seemed to be. Or I had gone blooming mad! Perhaps all three were true. I thought better of making any further comment lest something else extraordinary befall me. My eyes skimmed over the old tree and the realization that there was a way up settled upon me. There had been none, and then in a twinkling of an eye it changed. It was almost like…magic.

The thought came unbidden; stirring within me, kindling what I had thought was gone. There was no question as I pulled myself up. Hope had taken me. There _was_ something left. Meant for me, and it propelled me upward. I ascended easily and gave little thought to how perfectly placed each branch was. Usually there was some sort of exertion involved with tree climbing. Had I the sense, I might have stopped to ponder the ease of the exercise. Never mind the implications, what was of more import was my reaching the very tippy-top. Briefly, I felt a twinge of fear as I gazed down. It was strange how much higher it seemed when I was aloft.

It wasn't prudent to dwell on the distance anyway. I was here, the ring was there, and this wasn't the first time I'd scaled the heights of plant life. Caution kept me alive but there was something to be said about the fearless. With that in mind, I clung tightly to Fatroot and reached for the ring. My fingers grazed the tiny budding and, throwing caution to the wind, I stretched out. My body came away from the trunk, plucking the ring from its resting place. Euphoric relief rushed over me and I very nearly lost my footing. Like a lifeline, I held tightly to Fatroot; my triumph just about replaced with disaster. My heart pounded uncomfortably in my chest—I could not afford to be reckless—so I did something completely rational.

I slipped the ring on my finger.

There were several good reasons for the action: it was dark, I didn't want to risk it falling from my pocket, or dropping it entirely. I supposed that I could have held it in my mouth, but then the surety of my falling was almost guaranteed, and I didn't want anything ghastly like swallowing said object to happen. How was I to know that the moment the cool metal slid over my digit, I would be overcome with disorientation? My skin prickled and the very air became unpleasantly potent. My senses so blaringly loud, I could not distinguish what from where. There was a crack, a scrape, a groan, an escalation of squawks from neighboring birds, and a rumble that was quickly encapsulating it all. That, of which, was originating from the tree itself; and it was frightful. Then, my suspicions were confirmed. It moved before my very eyes and I quite forgot myself. I recoiled and there was no correcting the mistake.

A scream echoed about as I plummeted, smacking into branches and breaking some in the process. Desperately I tried to grab hold of one, but gravity was unmerciful and my fingers raked the bark. My head hit one and my body slammed into another, knocking the wind from me, but it seemed to hold. Until an unsettling snap! There was a lurch before it broke entirely, and I fell again. My outcry lost in the coming windfall, it was all a fast coming blur. Things pulled and thrashed, and through it all I held fast to my doom. Steadily, a point of light grew below me and it played havoc with my equilibrium. The riotous crash I was a part of burst into the bottommost limbs where I dramatically became snagged in a y. The rest of the debris thudded onto the ground and into the light, which turned out to be a blazing fire. I tried to focus, but as is common with such accidents—head injuries and all—it only expounded on the impending outcome: the emptying of the contents of my stomach straight into the fire and the boiling pot suspended over it.


	2. Timber for a Flame

**Chapter II**

Timber for a Flame

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><p>There is something to be said about a first meeting and the impression it leaves upon the other party. A host should always be prepared with warm invitation, and a pot of tea at the ready. Likewise there is a conscientiousness that should be present in all guests. What is expected—or ought to be provided—should not be shown in one's demeanor. There should always be an effort in humility even when there is an appalling lack of jam and bread. Of course, this is all dependent on the society being of a civilized nature. And even that is debatable.<p>

To say that the method of my arrival was not well received, was putting it lightly. What soul's dander would not be raised by a sudden disruption, which nearly resulted in bodily harm and the sullying of their supper? I would be hard pressed to find one. It was a solid five minutes as the dust settled before the disturbed rose from their spot by the fire. Peering up at me and weighing two options: leaving me stuck as I was, or knocking me down into the flames as a lesson. The first was the more appealing choice, as the second required effort and was, in a way, aiding me from my plight. However, there was also a curiosity at my expulsion from the treetops, and this eventually won over the first two predispositions. It was keenly obvious how _unaware_ I was. A dreadful and painful mess, draped in a tangle of branches with leaves and twigs sticking out every which way. It almost inspired pity.

Instead, there was a quick, hard, rap! Burled wood connected sharply with the branch in front of me. This was so startling that I baulked and slipped from my perch. Arms flailed about as I swung to and fro, my legs still snagged by the branch above. Suspended—in a topsy-turvy fashion—a way that belied grace. This was how I came to observe my surly audience.

"And what manner of folk are you?" they interrogated.

That was unexpected. If someone were to suddenly come tumbling down my stairs, that would not be a question I asked of them. Usually there would be an inquiry after their well-being, even when it was obvious that they were not _all_ _right_. The lack of concern caught me off guard, and what did they mean by; folk?

"Are you deaf?"

The virtue of patience is as hard to come by, and equally as rare, as common sense.

"No…?" I responded.

"Well then, speak up! I have not the grace to sit here for the inordinate amount of time that it takes for you to conjure up an answer! Do I look to have all the hours of the night at my disposal?"

I stared and thought that I should say something. Just what though, escaped me. It didn't seem to be necessary, or welcomed for that matter, as the speaker continued straight on.

"No, I do not!" he barked.

"Ulmo preserve us!" he delivered to the sky.

He continued to rant. "Of all the places! The audacity of some, just dropping into business not their own! Never a thought to the trouble they've caused! And _never_ a moment's peace! Sail me to the undying lands!"

I might have thought this a bit of an overreaction, had I been given the opportunity to think. As it were, I was spoken to with such rapid succession that I defaulted to simply letting events unfold. And really, it was impossible to have a serious conversation when I was strung upside-down with a carroty blaze all too near. It crackled and hissed, and was downright distracting. The fear that I would be set afire at any moment made me most anxious; resulting in my warily regarding the flames instead of the lecturer. My attention was properly redirected with a prod.

"Ow!" I exclaimed.

There was a snort in reply. "That is hardly worth complaint."

"How would you know?" I asked with sudden boldness and annoyance. I was, after all, the one who had just crashed down a tree.

"Then," your warden began, "you should maintain some presence of mind, and you would not fall prey to injury." (An argument could be made that this was exactly what I was doing, heeding the fire and all). As he had bent down to deliver his comment, I caught good sight of him for the first time. The light cast perfectly to reveal a very large crooked nose, beady green eyes, and a beard that was reminiscent of a nest. On his head sat a pointed hat that had long since lost its ability to remain upright, and so fell to the side all lackadaisical. His hair was wild, peppered, and knotted in a way I couldn't quite determine if purposefully done, or the result of neglect. It was not an appearance that I would have envisioned.

I began to feel as though I had befallen something momentous.

"And again, silence," his tone dripping with exasperation. "Had I not heard you speak, I would think you dumb."

His attitude was vexing.

"Are you so cruel to let me dangle here in danger from the fire?" I countered just as snidely.

He laughed. "You fear fire over a wizard."

At this statement all animosity fled. Incredulous, I asked, "A what?"

"Daft as well," he muttered before repeating, "A WIZARD."

I stared blankly. My mind was slow and unwilling to believe the words.

"You mean the sort that does magic?"

This gave him pause and he examined me in turn.

Finally he responded, "I am unaware of any other kind."

This rendered me speechless and confused. Wizards, magic, moving trees; these were all too fantastic, imagined tales to pass gloomy days. Or so I had believed, but a feeling in my gut begged to differ.

"Where am I?" The query held a note of apprehension.

The wizard scrutinized me a bit more, as if considering something, before he answered in a sort of reluctant and cautious tone. "In the wild, east of Ered Luin and in the northwest of Eriador."

These places—I did not know them—but, there was a sense of vague familiarity. It was inexplicable.

"Eriador…" I echoed, as if saying the name out loud would bring more clarity. It had the opposite effect. The notion worsened in a maddening way; trapped on the tip of my tongue, and now no amount of deliberation would free it. This stirred in me frustrated helplessness.

It was lucky for me that I was not alone and therefore allowed to wallow in a state of self-pity. Or maybe, it was being in the company of a wizard who was unwilling to suffer such sorrowful looks and the possibility of being lamented upon. Whichever, I suddenly found myself whipped toward the trunk. The branch that held me bent in a most unnatural way before it unceremoniously tossed me to the ground. After an initial squeal and grumbles, I pulled myself upright and pinned the wizard with a begrudging look.

"A warning would have been nice!" I'd had my fill with the nasty business of falling.

"Oh?" He raised a bushy eyebrow. "Did you offer me the same consideration when you came bursting from the heavens and ruined my supper?"

That was a valid point. But I was not about to admit it, or be held responsible for something that was beyond my control. I huffed in reply. I was as irritable as he looked taking the pot from the fire and tossing its contents beyond the pool of light. The feeling was fleeting and being challenged by more portending thoughts, not leaving behind any measure of confidence. I watched as he dug into a pack, a question coming to mind.

"Who are you?" My voice was quiet, and for a moment I thought that he had not heard. That was until he looked up sharply.

"Were you taught no manners?" Though he spoke at a lower volume, he had not lost any of his snappish quality.

"What—?"

"Spare me," he interrupted. "Ask my name before giving your own! Of all the uncouth…presumptuous…" he continued with less than discreet grousing. It didn't take away any of the annoyance, whether I could pick out his words or not, he was still complaining about me. It was remarkable that no matter what I said, or did, I was somehow _always_ in error. A feat for what could've only been about an hour's acquaintance. I rolled my eyes.

"Pardon me. I'm—"

"No!" he interrupted again. "No, no, no. Don't tell me your name. The less I know, the less likely I am to be caught up by your trouble."

"What do you mean? I'm not in trouble," I insisted.

He laughed at that. "Doesn't even know…" He shook his head. "That's _much_ worse."

I opened my mouth to make a similar protest when he beat me to it…again.

"Never mind, no amount of telling is going to do any good. You will just insist otherwise."

That was entirely unjust! Wizard or not, he did _not _know everything despite him clearly _thinking_ that he did. And he certainly did not know me. His elusiveness was infuriating.

"Are all wizards like you?" I drawled.

"I should hope not," he snorted and stood, pot back in hand.

"Wait!" I started with a note of panic as he turned away and headed toward the dark trees. "Are you going?"

"I am humbled by your wit," he muttered not deterred in the slightest.

"You can't leave!" I practically shouted, standing up in the process.

This did make him stop, and he turned back to me, his towering form oppressive.

"Can I not?" he intoned.

Those three words reverberated within me, shaking me to my core, the very hairs upon my arms standing on end. He was waiting for my answer, and while most of me wished to cower, there was a very small part that did not.

"No," I answered far from firm.

I dared not breath as he glowered down at me, sure that I was about to be turned into a toad.

Finally he spoke, "Not so hopeless after all."

Whatever was that supposed to mean? I was about to say as much, and more, but he held up his hand.

"Enough! Trolls have more sense than you!" He sighed. "I am merely going for more water."

Here he held up the pot and I felt foolish.

"Stay within the firelight and you will come to no harm," he emphatically stated.

"Harm?" His reference to trolls was now quite alarming. "What do you mean harm?"

"Confound it all! Do you really wish to know?"

When he put it that way, I was sure that I _did_ _not_ want to know.

"No, leave me out of your trouble." For the briefest of instances the corner of his mouth quirked.

"Stay by the fire," he reiterated, and then he was gone.

I stood a moment longer glancing about before I scooted closer to the fire and sat down. Every noise was greater than before. The whooshing of the underbrush, crinkling and crackling, breaking and bawling; all becoming deeper, darker. The snapping hiss of flames dwindled, their brilliance ebbing, their glow caught as if in a fog. Beyond the light—out there—my mind conjured dark visages. The warmth faded away, leaving an unsettling chill.

That is when I heard it.

It was just above the rest, gliding over the undertones, a rhythmic drone. The urge to turn around clawed at me. The sound increased in pace as I stubbornly stared into the blaze, which seemed to be growing fainter. The rise and fall of my breast increased as it filled with dread. Stay by the fire, but what if it will not stay by me? Where had the wizard gone? It was here that I thought of her, the words she would whisper in the terror of the night, when naught else could push the darkness back. The very remembrance a token of grief, I spoke them aloud. To the air I lifted the verses:

_O' how the stifling shadow falls,_

_It crows our ruin, it mocks our call._

_Beset and banished; O' land to vanish,_

_Cast into the sea._

_Nevermore a path to tread,_

_Nevermore to look ahead;_

_To gaze upon the green,_

_Great splendor to be seen;_

_Nevermore to hail the three-tree._

_But even in dire hour, _

_There is hope; another Power._

_O' light to part, _

_With emboldened hearts;_

_The day is marked,_

_Strike fear into the dark;_

_For it shall never be._

It was not the end of the lay, but I left it there. The tremor within had lessened, and the fire seemed to regain its vibrancy. I looked out into the gloom and saw nothing of the imaginings from before. Only a twinge of fear remained. What was it about those words? Gran never told me and when asked, she always responded with a question of her own.

_Do you feel better? Then what is there to know…_

Perhaps that was the truth and I was the only maker of evil, tricked by mind and a fickle heart. Perhaps it was all a dream. And perhaps I was merely deluding myself with such thoughts. That's what the balmy wizard would tell me.

"And what do you think to spy in the black of night?" I was abruptly asked.

Startled, I cried out and fell back. The movement a reminder of bruised layers and (for my part) it was not kindly received.

"How did you get there?" I demanded staring across the flames at my companion suddenly reappeared.

"I walked."

"With no sound?" I did not believe him.

"Need I remind you I am a wizard, or have you already forgotten?" He placed his pot back above the fire and began to drop various plants into the water. "Although passing unnoticed is hardly worth such a grandiose display. Being nimble of feet is enough and you may not have been so surprised had you been _paying_ attention."

I had never been scolded so much in my life. "And what is wrong, may I ask, with gazing out into the night?"

"That depends…" he paused in his stirring, "on what you were hoping to find."

"I was hoping to find nothing," I defended and he snorted.

"Good, and that is where it should be left."

He was unperturbed and had strayed into what seemed to be good humor. I, on the other hand, was quite the opposite.

"Do you ever make any sense?"

"Do you ever listen?" he taunted.

What an insufferable man! If I had my way, I would not waste one more instant in conversation, but he was not one to be ignored.

"Drink this," he commanded shoving a cup toward me.

I took it, so as to not have the contents emptied into my lap, and eyed it with a measure of doubt.

"What is it?" The odor wafting up at me was far from appealing. "It smells awful," I added.

I watched as he painstakingly settled himself and then proceeded to stuff a pipe. Of which he had pulled from his sleeve. It was a slow and methodical process. I huffed in irritation.

At long last, he mumbled to me between puffs of smoke, "It's an herbal remedy not a glass of wine. Drink it if you desire some relief. Or do not; it makes no difference to me."

I watched him a bit longer, wondering at the kindness, before gagging it down. It was not so foul, but rather the combination of tastes did not mix well. I sat there some minutes and eventually the ache in my head began to dissipate. The silence and warmth played on my exhaustion and I lay down. The bright dance of colors hypnotizing, I welcomed the numbing distraction, putting off the things that harrowed me. I thought that sleep was finding me too easily, and I reckoned that it was the brew I consumed. But it had been a long while since I'd rested peacefully and I yearned to do so, if only to forget for a little while.

The wizard watched as I finally gave in to sleep; my eyelids sliding shut and my shoulders relaxing from their tense posture. I was a mystery; dropping from the clouds, ignorant and yet possessing of knowledge unbeknownst to myself. It was trouble, with which he should not bother.

"And what about you?" he asked pinning the tree I'd barreled through with a cursory glance. "She breaks your boughs and now look at you, sprawling your leaves all out above her. If that was the way to garner favor, I would have broken your branches long ago."

The tree groaned in return, the pitch varying every so often like you would expect to hear if a strong wind blew it about. The wizard coughed, choking on the smoke of his pipe.

"So you say, but I'm not so sure." He rose from the ground, studying his surroundings before coming to stand over me, a frown marring his features.

"Regardless," he continued, "she will sleep soundly this night." And he draped a cloak over my sleeping form.


	3. Lost and Found

**AN **(short): I just want to give a quick thank you to all of you who have, read, reviewed, followed, or favorited. Thank you! I truly did not expect such support right off the bat. You are amazing!

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><p><strong>Chapter III<strong>

Lost and Found

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><p>Dreams are peculiar things, absurd creators of realities not common; silly at times, embarrassing at others, and sometimes frightful. Like the mysterious creak of a floorboard in the deep of night. I slept soundly, my subconscious devoid of any such distraction, so restful in fact that it could be construed as unnatural. Though certainly not ungrateful, too many had been my sleepless slumbers of late. The hope that I would wake refreshed and retaining some soundness of mind was also too great an expectation.<p>

"Wake up!"

The voice was insistent, invading my unconscious state, and (honestly) I was extremely reticent to comply with such a demand. Was I supposed to be cooperative when someone had the audacity to enter my room uninvited? Of course not! So it was that I rolled over, or tried to.

"Stupidity of men! _Get_ up!"

This time I was nudged unkindly and it was not unlike provoking a badger from its hole. I bolted upright in such a huff, a dagger-like verbalization at the ready when I was struck speechless. The sight to greet me was quite unexpected and undoubtedly not a fixture associated with home. In fact, I was far from the comforts of the room I'd imagined. The disarray of hair and indomitable face peering down at me gave me a great start. Flummoxed, I stared. The last vestiges of sleep slowly seeped away and left in its wake the drudgeries of yesterday.

"You're not a dream," I stated.

My words only seemed to aggravate the wizard further.

"To be so simple," he uttered yanking me from the ground. "No amount of wishing or dallying in the clouds is going to help you now."

His words were rushed and his tone serious.

"What do you mean?" I dared to ask.

He leveled such a look my way, with such intensity, that I was afraid.

"We have to leave," he informed me, and sensing the budding question to come, he added, "It's not safe."

By his reasoning, this should have been explanation enough. I, however, did not make the ready connection that he so obviously did. It was still dark, probably the early hours of morning before the sun made its trek into the sky. Nothing seemed to be amiss.

"Are you sure?" I pressed, though I had the forethought to do so timidly.

"Am _I _sure!" he barked incredulously. "I should—"

Whatever he was about to say died upon his lips. Sharply, he peered out into the trees and I tried to follow his line of sight, but I could see nothing in the dimness. Just as abruptly he turned back. Within three strides he was beside me, towering oppressively, and brusquely snatching then shoving the forgotten cloak into my hands.

"Put that on!" he ordered.

I stammered helplessly, fumbling with the mess of rough spun material; it was overlarge and presumably meant for the wizard. Why it was necessary for me to don the article was a curiosity in itself. It was more likely to be a hindrance than any sort of help; especially in the instance of a hasty departure. Nevertheless, I did as he bade. Better that, than the risk of his wrath.

"What is going on?" I pestered, determined for an answer.

"What deed granted me such insufferable, excruciating inquisitiveness?" he lamented, grabbing my arm and pulling me after him.

"Excuse me!" I shot angrily back. "Is it _so_ shocking that I would want to know—_what_—I am in danger of?"

"No, indeed," he admitted, "but there isn't the time for it."

"Isn't the time!" That was the last straw! It was ridiculous, this expectation that I would just blindly trust his word! For all I knew, this cantankerous old wizard was leading me straight into harm's way! So I dug my feet firmly into the ground and ripped my arm from his grasp.

"By—"

I cut him off, "No! I will have an answer, or I _won't _be going to wherever it is that you're taking me."

He looked as if he might march off right then and there, but instead gave a great noise of exasperation. "Now you deem it wise to test my merit! Might it have been better to do so _before_ you drank from my cup, or slept under my watch? If I meant you ill, would I not have done so then?"

That was a very sound and logical argument. "Unless," I countered, "it was your plan all along to lead me into _false_ security."

Indignant, he replied, "I concede to your greater powers of mind." And he began to trot off at swift pace.

"Where are you going?" I cried, running after him.

"Somewhere safe," he snapped. "If you wish to remain behind, then so be it. Perhaps you can _talk_ the foul creatures to death!"

"Foul creatures!" The wizard spun about so suddenly that I very nearly collided with him.

"Yes…" his voice taking on a dark edge, "foul creatures and they are hungry for something."

I swallowed, "How do you know that?"

"Because," he over enunciated the word, "the wood was at peace before…your sudden arrival. And the trees told me so."

The last bit was said with ease, as if it were common and so ordinary that it didn't elicit a second thought.

"What? The trees?" I glanced up warily, lowering my voice, "But trees can't speak."

"Oh?" And he glanced up as well. "I'm sure they'll remember that the next time peril laps on your heels."

Just like before he turned and started away.

"No, wait! That's not what I meant." I ran after the wizard.

The further I followed him, the larger the trees; bent and knobby, jutting this way and that, spidery limbs locking above me in a weave that didn't seem usual. Sizable roots broke out of the earth, sometimes obscured by brush or heather, and sometimes not. I was moving onto an incline, which made it that much harder to catch up, considering my shorter stature and lesser steps. He continued as though I'd never spoken. The audacity spurred me onward, and by some miracle, I found myself adjacent to him upon the crest of the hill.

He hadn't stopped for me. That was obvious by how he stared, his face drawn in consternation. I couldn't make anything out in the murk, but the faintest line of the rise and fall of the ground as it continued in a squiggly fashion. No hint of moon or starlight piercing the canopy above. There was a weight in the air, thick and stifling. It pressed in from all sides, pounding down upon me. The overpowering sensation that I was about to be crushed was unbearable, and I found it hard to draw my next breath. Not a leaf rustled from the shadowy sentinels standing about; the gnawing feeling that I was being watched inescapable.

I risked breaking the still tension. "I am sorry," I offered, my voice mild and hushed.

That drew the wizard's eyes back to me, adding to the heaviness.

"I am not the one you should be apologizing to," he admonished, though he did so softly.

My eyes snapped up to meet his, as I had been gazing out when I'd spoken.

"I wasn't talking to you," I shot back.

Unexpectedly, he smiled and it was oddly dazzling. Like the way sunlight shown on things of a vexing nature and made them pleasant.

"Good. I have no need of apologies."

"Then we agree on something," I added.

"Indeed we do," his statement almost one of camaraderie.

I might have smiled then, but as things have a habit of doing, such moments are rare and often despoiled.

A thundering sound ripped through the silence with such groaning's and howling's; like a mounting wave the branches swayed above, the leaves rushing. A deafening crescendo.

The forest had come alive.

"Quicker than I had thought…" Without warning the wizard grabbed my arms, turning me to face him. "Do not remove the cloak," he ordered, "it is spelled to aid the wearer."

"But—"

"Silence!" At his shout, I cringed. "Now go! The trees will help you!"

He then shoved me back and I stumbled. My eyes widening as he seemed to grow. A vivid, green light exploded from his staff. The illumination bringing out what had sought to remain hidden. A chorus of infuriated screeches erupted and I froze in panicked fear. At the base of the hill were the creatures, scrambling about, trying to escape the light. They were as big as men, covered from head to toe in a pelt of hair the color of bark. Their mouths biting with snarls and spit, and their eyes wild and vicious. Some stood on two legs and others on all fours, but all had jagged bone-like claws.

The wizard noticed my stuck form. "Run!" he commanded before slamming the butt of his staff into the undergrowth.

An invisible force pummeled into me and sent me careening down the other side of the hill. I had no sooner stopped in my decent when a root jutted up beneath me, forcing me to my feet.

_Run!_ The word reverberated within along with a daunting fear should I be caught. Frantic, I gathered the cloak to myself and ran leaving behind a terrific clamor. I barreled blindly ahead sometimes missing the dark unmovable blurs, but mostly not. Each collision only served to slow me further. How was I supposed to navigate my way in the black? The stampeding noise followed me still, and with each fall or knock of the shoulder, I was sure to be taken. Not even a spelled cloak could stop that. I could hear them tearing through bush not far behind.

"I can't see!" I helplessly, breathlessly, exclaimed. Why I thought to cry out escaped me. It was a desperate move, a fool's hope that I would find aid. The notion that perhaps the wizard would appear was quickly crushed. Instead of a pointed remark I was greeted with a frenzied growl. An immense weight pounced into me from the side taking me to the forest floor. Desperate, I fought to free myself, but the creature effortlessly batted away my attempts, sinking its teeth into my arm. I screamed and the trill was answered by more guttural sounds.

Surely, all hope was lost and my doom near at hand. That was the only thought to enter my mind before it was tossed out by pain, and the need to make it stop. Kicking hard, I connected with some spot of vulnerability. The beast unclamping from my arm to shriek in pain or rage? It was ample enough to allow me a scoot or two before it rebounded with a slap, claws pricking into my side, and sliding me forcibly into the base of a tree. The impact jarring, I lay for some moments before I was able to focus. Why had that monstrosity not finished me off? The reason being that it had lost sight of its quarry.

Its head thrashed about, whirring this way and that as it looked to find me. The ground trembling beneath its fit and me prone with pain. Crashing, bending, breaking, squawking! Every moment closer. Every moment the cold certainty of being sniffed out twisting in my gut. There was no boldness left in my limbs. It would be a mere two steps before I fell to a nasty end. Assailed no less by gob and sickly claws. The din fell away as its contorted face turned my direction, tilting and bobbing in a seemingly calm fashion. My breath hitched as it dropped to all fours burying its nose in the undergrowth before rising a bit and veering some paces away. It continued on zigzagging to and fro until it came to a final spot, repeating the previous action, but this time becoming static. With horror, did I observe its slow and deliberate rise, its hair rustling back and one leg coming off the ground. A deep gurgle rumbling out as its jowls pulled back in anticipation. It had found me.

A whimper, strangled and born of terror squawked out of me; it being the very thing of encouragement needed. The beast leapt. The action spearheaded by such ferocity, that in spite of my circumstance, I sprung back into solid bark.

_"__The trees will help you!"_ Words remembered that I had quite forgotten in the span of some minutes. Nonetheless, it was much too late, and I resigned myself to the tragedy about to befall me. This last fraction of life devoted to the thought of how disappointed the wizard would be by my inability to pay attention. Unbidden tears fell. The connection of sight between me and the soulless eyes of that twisted thing of nature drove everything else out. My mouth opened but not a sound came forth. It was stuck somewhere between my chest and throat not to be coaxed whatever the situation. I was stricken.

Its jaws widened. The head snapped back as claws dug into shoulders. The pressure building while pricks manifested themselves in coarse cloth, and held me to the tree. It was then that I broke from the daze: hot breath, muscles straining forward, the sharp lunge for the neck, and a sudden thump! Instead of the biting pain there was a piercing yelp, a splitting crunch, and a swooping pummel. Hooks grazed across collarbone, leaving punctures in their wake, as they were forcibly removed. Death skittering along the forest floor and me bound for the stars.

To say this was surprising was a gross understatement. The shock of suddenly being thrust into the air and then caught—branches circling about me—only to be flung directly after; was an imaginative miracle not to be found in my head. The fluid, direct motion left me gasping, reeling in the dizzying momentum; a distinct reminder of my earlier tumble. My hunters beset by nature most unnatural. Up, down, up, down, up and down; a teasing dance and they scrambled beneath me: jumping, snapping, swerving, and bawling. The trees just as discontented; they swooshed and cracked, the once impenetrable crown broken by the frenzy. They dangled me in the air and smote the beasts below. A grating of morning light piercing the murk in a wave; rolling with the massive rush of green like the break of surf upon rock, and just as booming.

The cascade of events left a scream brimming at the surface, constantly about to breach only to be stayed by another whoosh or click of teeth whose only reward was nothing whatever. How long would they persist in their pursuit? When outmatched, did not animals retreat? Yet these showed no signs of slowing, only a horrifying determination, as if driven, but by what? The idea of being forever tossed in a never-ending chase until the end came, not by savage, hairy things, but by the less than gentle ministrations of trees, seemed all too likely. I was lost under power not my own, left to fate and the laws of the natural world. For instance: what goes up must come down.

I flew from the latest wood just narrowly missing twigs and limbs as they stooped, leaves slapping my face and snagging on cloak and clothes. The friction not enough to slow me in the slightest; up I sailed in an arch under the rising rays of the sun before a choking decent and the realization that there was no tree to catch me. The thick greenery had given way to a clearing devoid of life, and there—keeping pace with me—my shadow.

I fell and it sprang with a twisted grace.

A great revulsion swelled within and I gagged. Wind thrust hair and cloth back, the better for me to see the powerful muscles surging, claws outstretched, mouth agape and sickening, ripe teeth. It was as if I was tethered by rope (a rather stretchy rope), and having reached its limit been snapped back toward the center. I fell with such utter certainty, that I failed to take into account the one thing that would not be ruled in such a manner: the ring.

It was an anomaly unto itself, and why it acted now instead of before was just as puzzling as it was frustrating. Later thought on the matter would probably lead to the conclusion that it was arbitrary in its preservation of life. Namely that of its bearer, and that (had the facts been known before) would have been better kept lost. Still, there was no wriggling out of the consequences now, and I found myself—again—the subject of an overwhelming stupor; a swirling lack of mindfulness, a hot flicker and then a cold shudder. When I did find myself able to fix my senses, I saw nothing at all. Not tree, nor man-beast, nor ground.

Actually it was all white and a mouthful of water. Icy liquid surged over me, burning into my lungs and sending me into a panic. It felt as though I was caught, something seeking to pull me down and the current pushing me about in the same instance. Spluttering I bobbled upward, shattering through the surface, and roughly being shoved against a steep bank. My chest was on fire, being racked with spasms, sprays of water shooting out of my mouth. The momentary respite quickly replaced as I was claimed back by the deep; sinking down, down, and down. As my vision narrowed, thoughts dulled, and movements became sluggish, I saw, no—_remembered_. It spurred something inside, and in a last effort I shot upward. My hand brushing against some tendril in the water and I grabbed onto it, moving forward until head and shoulders were free from the watery depths.

The flow of the river seemed to hold me aloft as I heaved until I could endure the deed no longer and collapsed. My lifeless body hooked in a tangle of massive roots that had long ago burst from the earth and fed the old, towering willow above. It was the curious ripple of silver that caught my rescuers attention across the way, and alerted him to the poor wretch afloat there.


End file.
